by J.D. Tynan
That is when she took off running away from me, into the middle of the store, blonde hair fluttering dramatically in the wind. At this point, I didn't care that I was topless. My bra was one of those Victoria Secret plum-colored numbers with no seams and it did look good on my toned upper body, so I went with the rage in my belly and I raced after her. I was sure the whole debacle would be in the National Inquirer first thing in the morning. "Naked nanny goes berserk on Roald Munson's emotionally fragile daughter in local J. Crew store."
I could just see the headline flashing in my head as I grabbed her upper arm and flung her around to face me.
"What is your problem?" I couldn't believe that I stooped to use her famous line. Heck, I invented that line when I was twelve. "Why are so damn bitchy all the time and what did I ever do to you to deserve this crap? Your father said that I'm not to let you out of my sight. Is that clear?"
Tears actually welled up in her eyes and I thought for sure she was going to break down in sobs.
"What does he care?" she blurted out before shrugging from my grasp and heading for the door. All eyes were on us and I was still topless.
Annabelle remained right out in front of the store while I changed back into my clothes, said goodbye to the purchases I had wanted to make and promised the sales girl that I would be back for those perfect jeans.
We spoke no words on the way home and the silence gave me time to realize that I knew nothing about this girl's problems. I just hadn't taken the time to evaluate her behavior because I had been so busy trying not to strangle her in her sleep.
I had a grave feeling that Annabelle and I had more in common than I could have guessed.
Chapter Three
Two days later, after more silence and many tears shed by Annabelle, her father walked through the garage door and scared the living shit out of me.
"Jesus Christ!" I climbed back into my skin that I had just jumped out of and planted my bare feet onto the cold tile of the kitchen floor. I had been sitting on the counter in my flannel boxer shorts and tank top, and had a peanut butter and jelly sandwich on route to my mouth when he entered the kitchen at 1:00 A.M.
"Sorry," he chuckled and dropped his luggage onto the counter. He wasn't as tall as I thought he would be and he looked… exhausted would be a good word. "I didn't mean to frighten you." His deep voice reverberated in my ears as my heartbeat returned to normal.
"It's okay. I just wasn't expecting you."
That and I really wasn't dressed appropriately. When I worked for other families, I always made sure that I wore my big ugly flannel grandma pajamas for occasions such as this one. After all, I was young, physically fit and, according to the last man I dated, I was sexy and had a great rack. Needless to say, we didn't date long. Men either call me a loser, or they look at me like a sex object and I am neither, so I don't date often.
"You must be Charlie. How's everything going?" he asked and eyeballed my sandwich like it was chocolate in the eyes of a deranged woman with chronic PMS.
"You want me to make you one?"
He actually looked at me as if I was speaking Swahili.
I blinked a couple of times and took his slight head-bob as a yes. Perhaps his former nannies weren't as considerate as I was. Heck, I didn't know what was going through his mind.
"Grape or strawberry?" I asked while rummaging through the fridge.
"Grape." He cleared his throat loudly. "Please."
Wow, he has manners too. I think I might like it here. We talked for a bit while we ate our sandwiches and drank milk. I feel comfortable chatting with celebrities after I get to know them, use the same toilets as them, wash their laundry and pick up their kids' toys. However, I had done none of this with Roald Munson so far, so I was still at that crucial, wanting to blush every couple of minutes, stage of our new relationship.
"How's Annabelle doing? Has her mother called?" he asked and then handed me a paper towel.
I probably had peanut butter stuck to my chin. Great.
"She's a typical twelve year old." I cocked my eyebrow and looked into his eyes. He really has wonderful eyes. Kind of bluish-green. "And honestly, I don't know if Nicole has called or not. Annabelle and I haven't spoken much."
He shrugged his shoulders.
Clearly, everyone was going through tough times.
I said goodnight and hustled back to the guest room. I guess I could have gone out to my quarters, but I had gotten so used to the guest bed, that I decided I would spend one more night in the house. Besides, all my stuff was already unpacked up there and it was the middle of the night.
As I quietly passed Annabelle's room, I could see her light on through the crack in the door and I would have had to be deaf not to hear her sobs. It broke my heart that I couldn't do anything to stop them. I had tried many times in the past couple of days to get her to open up and talk to me, but then we just ended up screaming at each other and then both of us ended up in our separate rooms.
***
The next morning, Roald came down, looked genuinely happy to see his daughter and for the first time since I had met her, she actually looked like she might smile. They embraced warmly. She made him some toast and tea. He kissed her head and then went into the den.
Can you say dysfunctional?
I can.
I nearly wept when I looked into her eyes. The pain of neglect filled them once again. Pain that I myself knew all about.
"Do you want to see if he wants to go to Compo with us?" I offered as an olive branch. Perhaps if Daddy Dearest was along, Annabelle might be nice to me.
She just shrugged. "He won't."
"Wanna bet?" I had high hopes. What can I say? The Army taught me to be self-confident and aim high. Or was that the Air Force motto? I always get them confused.
I cleaned up the breakfast dishes, handed Gregory the towel, told him to go take a hot bath and I entered Roald's den on the pretense of refilling his teacup.
"More hot water?" I poured some without a reply and then sat down across from him and tapped my finger on my thigh until he looked up from the latest tabloid with fire in his eyes.
"Why do you read that crap?" I asked.
He shrugged and looked at me for an explanation as to why I was in his face.
"I think it would be a nice idea if you came to the beach with Annabelle and me today. She really missed you and not having Nicole around is really affecting her."
"Oh." He looked concerned, but not as concerned as he was over what the National Enquirer had just printed about Nicole's affair with Braden Booker, her new lover and co- star in her latest box office hit. "She didn't say anything to me."
"Well, have you given her the chance?" Boy, I really needed to shut the hell up, but I didn't. "It's none of my business, but I think she's really hurting. I hear her cry at night and she's on edge and maybe she should see a therapist."
I didn't mean that last part. Therapy wouldn't benefit Annabelle much, not yet anyway. My mother had tried to get me into therapy a number of times and I always refused to go. Now I would love to go. I'm mature enough now to see that I need it.
I am still rebelling against my father's wishes because he never gave me the time of day when I was young and it's starting to mess with my life.
I'm still keeping the fact that I have already graduated from college a secret, just to keep him nagging me and I find that every time I get fired, I start craving his drawn out speeches about how my life is going nowhere. I actually look forward to them. That's just sick and wrong.
"I think she just needs you to be close to her right now. Trust me. I know what I'm talking about."
I think he actually listened to me because he smiled, said thanks and called Annabelle into his den using his intercom system.
Twenty minutes later, they emerged arm in arm. Annabelle was smiling and we headed to the beach.
***
I packed a picnic for them and then made myself scarce when we arrived. The beach club had always been
one of my favorite places to go in Westport. There were always a multitude of half-naked men to gawk at and I loved Piña Coladas. I abstained today because for once, I felt good about my position as Bella's nanny and I was starting to make progress on her behavior, or so I thought.
"I have to go." Roald said as he approached with Bella. Boy, he was so cute. Irritating, but cute.
"No," I said because Annabelle looked so hurt. "I mean, you can't. I…" I tried to think of a good excuse to keep him there, but his cell phone never left his side. The poor girl.
"I…I….twisted my ankle," I lied and lifted my ankle up, willing it to look bruised and swollen.
He did the unthinkable and lifted me up.
Shit.
He carried me to the Hummer, tossed me into the backseat and we all left. So much for my keen ability to bring them closer. I was the bad guy once again, because his attention was on me and not her.
"I'm fine," I said again, as he dropped me onto the couch. Annabelle booked it up to her room and I didn't see her for the rest of the afternoon.
Roald made me a sandwich with chunky peanut butter and grape jelly and brought it to me on the couch, then he slid in beside me and we watched a couple of movies together.
It was by far the weirdest thing that has ever happened to me.
***
Two more days had passed and I had made a little more progress with Annabelle and her father. I made them eat dinner together every night and attempted to keep Roald's attention on his daughter by bringing her into the conversation every couple of minutes. They still had a long way to go, but they were not altogether hopeless.
The phone rang just as Gregory put their steaks down in front of them. I usually ate in the kitchen with Gregory and eavesdropped on their dinner conversations. If the conversation went dry, I would run in and say something witty about Annabelle. I was getting it done; that is until the phone rang.
"Yah." He was speaking a different language that I didn't recognize and fled to his den. He returned to the dining room and the phone rang again. "Yah." Then he was speaking English, but he was clearly not thrilled with the person on the other line.
It was Nicole.
Annabelle tensed in her seat when he finished yelling and handed her the phone. Annabelle didn't say much, and then she hung up. "Mom wants me to come for the rest of the summer."
"No." He slammed his hands onto the table. "You are going to Kenya with me."
Her eyes lit up and she ran around the table to hug her dad. It was wonderful to see, and although I know it was a ploy to get back at his cheating soon to be ex-wife, I was happy that Annabelle would get to see more of him. Then it hit me.
Shhhhhhhiiiiiiiittttttt. If Annabelle spent the rest of the summer in Kenya, that meant I'd be spending the rest of my summer in Kenya. Shit. Shit. Shit. I loathe Africa. Oh, my God.
I paled and sat down on my barstool. I wasn't even paying attention to what I was shoveling into my mouth, until I smelled the stench of Brussels sprouts. I loathe Brussels sprouts just as much as I loathe Africa.
The phone rang again. There was more shouting and I clearly heard him say that Annabelle would be accompanying him to Africa for the final month of shooting on his new action film.
Fan-friggin'-tastic.
Gregory finished the dishes, with some help from me, and then I made it upstairs to say goodnight to Bella.
"Did you hear that?" She sounded so excited. "Africa. I've never been to Africa."
"I have." I smiled because she was smiling. "It's beautiful. You will love it." I lied. I had once spent six months there during my eight years with the Army, it was overrun with giant bugs the size of my fist and wild things that yelped in the night and bugs the size of my fist, and…did I mention bugs the size of my fist? I shivered even though it was still eighty-eight degrees outside.
"You're coming, right?" She actually sounded happy about it.
"I guess so." I shrugged. "Maybe I should go find out."
She smiled and practically shoved me out of her room to find out if I would be accompanying them to Kenya.
I walked downstairs, and found Roald in his den, curled up on his leather sofa, holding a picture of Nicole in one hand and a bottle of Jack Daniels in the other.
Oh crud. I turned, hoping he wouldn't see me. Too late.
"Come in."
Against my better judgment, I sat down on the edge of his desk and looked at him. "Are you okay?" I usually helped the children, not the parents, but he looked as if he needed a friend.
"She said it was forever."
I rolled my eyes. I wanted to slap him out of it. Hello, this is Hollywood. Nicole said, 'I do,' when he was the hottest thing under the sun. She had his kid, she rode his coattails to stardom and now she had broken his heart. It just wasn't right, but what had he expected? Nicole Harrison had been married three times before she married Roald. She was practically Liz Taylor.
"I'm really sorry," I said and sat down next to him. The photo he was holding was from their wedding day and even I could see that her eyes just didn't look like they said forever. We talked more about Annabelle and about how she was warming up to me finally. Then he did ask me to come to Kenya and I accepted because I intended on doing whatever it took to stay employed. Besides, I had a special feeling about Annabelle.
Roald handed me the bottle of whiskey with a grin. I slammed some down and wiped my chin with the back of my hand.
Sometimes I can't believe my life.
Then he kissed me. Oh hell, he kissed me! Roald Munson, drunk on Jack Daniels just kissed me. Needless to say I quickly moved away from his lips and stood up.
"Uhhh." My great lines are sheer poetry. "I, uhhhh." Then I heard the pitter-patter of footsteps and a door slam violently. Shit. Shit. Shit.
Roald, the drunken oblivious one, just grinned and patted the couch.
I don't think so, pal.
I'm a nanny, not a geisha girl and yeah, I did like it. Who in hell wouldn't? However, I do have a strong moral objection to getting involved with any of my employers, and just because he was newly single and a god and well—drunk— didn't change that fact for me.
"Goodnight," I said before I left and headed right upstairs, packed my bag and slept for the first time in my quarters, alone in the dark with a knot in my stomach.
***
The next morning, I took Annabelle for her immunization shots. I, fortunately, didn't have to get a booster, because I had been abroad recently. We then spent a considerable amount of time at Banana Republic, J. Crew and the army surplus store on Wipple Drive. If I was going to trounce around in Kenya for a month, I wasn't about to ruin any of my shoes and I needed to get some serious supplies. Backpacks, boots and dried food in case all we were served was eyeball soup and cockroach guts. I got a canteen for Annabelle and one for me, and some other fun survival stuff that I thought she might get a kick out of.
Apparently, I was right on about the possibility of her seeing the kiss because the venom was back in her gaze and she hadn't said a word to me all day, other than to say, "I hate you," a number of times. I tried to get her to talk, I really did, but one can only take so much of those hate-filled words.
Roald left right after lunch, so I hadn't even seen him to talk about what had transpired. All he left was a note and he was off to Africa. Annabelle and I would be meeting him in a couple of days. I couldn't wait.
Not.
***
I called my father and mother and listened to them mope about Josh and how this was his last season with the Austrian Glouster-cocks, as I called them. My father had always been optimistic that Josh would someday make it to the NFL, but Josh was thirty-eight and it was time for him to retire. Then they raved about Dave's article in the Pacific Northwest Medical Review about something to do with vascular surgery and blood.
Why did I have to be a girl?
I had hoped to have a few minutes alone to talk to my dad, but his golf buddy had just arrived to take him
to Sunriver for eighteen holes, so I said goodbye.
I sat down on my bed feeling as if I had the weight of the world dropped on my shoulders. Perhaps it was that I was trying too hard to fix Bella and Roald's dysfunctional relationship and that I had never tried to fix my relationship with my own father. It dawned on me that I was nearly thirty- years old and I had never told my father how I felt. That's pretty immature, even for me, the girl who refuses to grow up.
So, I took out the stationery that my mother had bought me when I was in the Army and I actually put it to good use. I wrote him a long-ass letter, telling him everything. Starting with kindergarten all the way up to the present. I told him that I cried when he decided that Josh's football game was more important than my kindergarten production of "Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory" that he never bothered to see. I told him about high school and how I hated being known as the Ford brothers' goofy little sister.
I told him about the Army and the hell I went through to try to fit in to a man's world. I had never told him about my special training that never panned out because it was just one more thing for him to be disappointed about. I don't think that he would have looked at the fact that I had gotten as far as I did and then quit, as a positive thing. He would have just seen the part where I threw up my hands and quit.
I hate that about my father. I really do. He knew nothing about what I had done and how close I had gotten to a dream that I never realized I had.
The Army had taught me a lot about self-control, about living my dreams, and about how I could do anything that I set out to do. As a result, I took that advice from my superiors and I was hell-bent on becoming a Special Forces Specialist. I passed the academic requirements with perfect scores. I passed the weapons training with the highest grade in my class, and then I did three weeks of hell.
I can say right now that what I went through looked nothing like GI Jane. Demi Moore made it all look good, but there is nothing sexy about having your face ground into the dirt by some overly cocky jerk named Brick. There's nothing sexy about puking your guts out until you no longer can see straight, and there is nothing sexy about someone calling you the 'C' word every other minute.
